Q

lmnp asked:

so these are interviews?

A

They are a mix of an homage/parody of tumblrs like ‘Portraits of Boston’ and ‘Humans of New York’

Portraits of Magical America: Wizard Rockersfrom ‘Visions of Johanna: The Bent-Winged Snitches:’by Garfield Geronimo Hemingway for Rowling Stone Magazine    ‘I’m sitting in the inner-sanctum of The Bent-Winged Snitches and it seems like the whole world hums with intensity.      No, it’s not some fancy Hollywood recording studio or a decadent penthouse in the middle of New Orleans, the magical heart of America…    It’s much better than that.  We’re lounging on the roof of a rundown apartment in Harlem, with the city and the sky spread out in every direction like a phoenix admiring its feathers.      Muggle sirens and angry dogs serve as a staccato symphony in the background as I listen to Johanna Langston Simone speak.    Simone, the outspoken lead guitarist and singer of the band, sports a glorious afro which often seems to blot out the very sun herself.  But her words are what truly captivates you:    “They call us controversial.  Like it’s an insult,” she grins and her cocoa-brown eyes flash mischievously, “We just sing it like it is, man.”    Caroline Ringling Forrest, the ‘Snitches’ drummer, hunkers beside Simone and nods her shaggy blonde head in agreement.  The Half-Sasquatch, who grew up in Baraboo, Wisconsin, wears a tank top with the words ‘Imperio This, Patriarchy!’ emblazoned across the chest.    “How do you mean?”  I say.  I have yet to realize Johanna Langston Simone needs no prodding.      “America.  The Wizarding World.  Love.  Magic.  The whole frikken kitchen sink.”  She spreads out her arms to encompass the Empire City.      “A lot of people just seem to accept things.  They don’t try to push the envelope.  They don’t fight back.  They don’t ask why things are the way they are.”  Forrest says.    “Yeah, exactly.  Take the whole ‘Dark Arts’ label.  I mean, what the hell does that even mean?  ‘Dark. Arts.’  First of all, let’s not even get started on the viscous, imperialistic linguistic connotations that come into play when you start calling things you think are evil ‘dark’ or ‘black’.  But when you label a whole branch of magic ‘bad’ or ‘forbidden’ or ‘unforgivable’, you shut off the progress and fluidity of magic.  You immediately limit that power.   It just becomes a tool you manipulate through a phallic piece of wood.  You might as well use a gun.  That’s not magic.  That’s just arithmetic and rote memorization.  It’s disgusting.”  Simone says.  Forrest grips her hand and squeezes.      They don’t let go.        “But you must see that comments like that are why most people in the wizarding world call you ‘controversial.’”  I say.      A new voice breaks through the evening.  Geo Appleseed.  The band’s bassist:    “We see.  We do not care.”  Appleseed wears sunglasses that glisten in the fading evening light.  His long brown hair cascades around a beard Albus Dumbledore would be proud of.  Appleseed settles back in his wheelchair and goes silent once more.  Every band needs a stoic and he embraces the role with gusto.  When he speaks we all listen.      And he’s right.      The Bent-Winged Snitches do not care.      And that is precisely why we all care so much about them.      Two years ago, The Bent-Winged Snitches were just like every other Wizard Rock band.  Scraping by in back alleys and mermaid soirees.      But then Johanna Langston Simone wrote ‘Black and Mythological in America’, a soulful ballad about her love affair with Forrest.  The wizarding world was forced to take notice.  With her fabled fro and her lover’s total rejection of any and all razors, everybody instantly fell in love with both of them and the story of their romance.  From nervous teenagers on their first date at a Sheboygan ‘Wursts Quidditch match to international superstars, there wasn’t a wizarding newspaper without their faces smiling and giggling on the front page.      That was, until their sophomore album:    ‘Harry Potter is Not My Damn Messiah.’    Many found their flip from media darlings to political songsmiths most disagreeable.      But the ‘Snitches didn’t care.  They’d never be apologetic.  In fact, in an interview with the Daily Prophet’s infamous Rita Skeeter, Simone said that she would never back down from her views:    “No!  Look.  These are the facts.  While most of you were riding this idiot’s coattails, drinking champagne and getting fat on chocolate frogs, you all failed to realize something.  Harry Potter is a terrible wizard.  The only reason he even got into Hogwarts was cuz he was a legacy from a rich wizarding dynasty.  Simple economics.  We all know we’re ruled by an entrenched elite back in England.  And I’m not even talking about Voldy-douche’s ideas about blood purity or whatever…look, I’m sorry to burst Potter’s Napoleonic bubble, but he’s not even the best wizard in his marriage!”    Simone went on to advocate the abolition of Hogwarts’ ancient Houses system, citing its “rigid doctrines dictating the actions and attitudes of vulnerable, impressionable children.’    Needless to say, sales of The Bent-Winged Snitches’ music plummeted faster than a drunken troll after a night on the town.      But again, the Snitches didn’t care.  They had never been in it for the money.      So, Simone, Forrest, Appleseed, and the ‘Snitch’s Chupacabra keyboardist Gabriel Herrera Diego Diaz (who was unable to attend our interview due to a stint in rehab after a particularly bad goat-nabbing addiction relapse) went back to work on their third album.      And now, three days before ‘The Muggle Blues Again’ hits shelves, I sit with the young band admiring a Manhattan sunset.     “So why ‘The Bent-Winged Snitches?’” I ask.     Simone and Forrest glance at each other out of the corners of their eyes and blush.  “Well, because, a, we’re not straight, and b, because the rest of our band is a bunch of misfits as well, and c, because a Quidditch match in Wisconsin started this all. ”  Forrest says.         We lapse into silence for a moment as the last natural light slips beyond the horizon.  I turn back to them and speak in a quiet voice.      “So, what’s next?”    Simone looks down for a moment.  At this point, I can only see her as a faint outline in the darkness.      “I don’t know about us.  But for all my wrangling against the power structures of this Earth, I do have hope.  They say that America is in decline.  That our magic is scattered, weak, disorganized, dying.  But that’s not what I see.  I see vibrancy and diversity and youth.  I see a new generation finding their voice.  And I’ll tell you what.  Our magic doesn’t need pig latin.”    With this remarkable statement, Johanna Langston Simone picks up her now nigh-mythic acoustic guitar, which has green glowing letters pulsating along its base.  They read ‘stitch ends, begin anew.’    She begins to sing.’   

Portraits of Magical America: Wizard Rockers

from ‘Visions of Johanna: The Bent-Winged Snitches:’

by Garfield Geronimo Hemingway for Rowling Stone Magazine

    ‘I’m sitting in the inner-sanctum of The Bent-Winged Snitches and it seems like the whole world hums with intensity. 
    No, it’s not some fancy Hollywood recording studio or a decadent penthouse in the middle of New Orleans, the magical heart of America…
    It’s much better than that.  We’re lounging on the roof of a rundown apartment in Harlem, with the city and the sky spread out in every direction like a phoenix admiring its feathers. 
    Muggle sirens and angry dogs serve as a staccato symphony in the background as I listen to Johanna Langston Simone speak.
    Simone, the outspoken lead guitarist and singer of the band, sports a glorious afro which often seems to blot out the very sun herself.  But her words are what truly captivates you:
    “They call us controversial.  Like it’s an insult,” she grins and her cocoa-brown eyes flash mischievously, “We just sing it like it is, man.”
    Caroline Ringling Forrest, the ‘Snitches’ drummer, hunkers beside Simone and nods her shaggy blonde head in agreement.  The Half-Sasquatch, who grew up in Baraboo, Wisconsin, wears a tank top with the words ‘Imperio This, Patriarchy!’ emblazoned across the chest.
    “How do you mean?”  I say.  I have yet to realize Johanna Langston Simone needs no prodding. 
    “America.  The Wizarding World.  Love.  Magic.  The whole frikken kitchen sink.”  She spreads out her arms to encompass the Empire City. 
    “A lot of people just seem to accept things.  They don’t try to push the envelope.  They don’t fight back.  They don’t ask why things are the way they are.”  Forrest says.
    “Yeah, exactly.  Take the whole ‘Dark Arts’ label.  I mean, what the hell does that even mean?  ‘Dark. Arts.’  First of all, let’s not even get started on the viscous, imperialistic linguistic connotations that come into play when you start calling things you think are evil ‘dark’ or ‘black’.  But when you label a whole branch of magic ‘bad’ or ‘forbidden’ or ‘unforgivable’, you shut off the progress and fluidity of magic.  You immediately limit that power.   It just becomes a tool you manipulate through a phallic piece of wood.  You might as well use a gun.  That’s not magic.  That’s just arithmetic and rote memorization.  It’s disgusting.”  Simone says.  Forrest grips her hand and squeezes. 
    They don’t let go.   
    “But you must see that comments like that are why most people in the wizarding world call you ‘controversial.’”  I say. 
    A new voice breaks through the evening.  Geo Appleseed.  The band’s bassist:
    “We see.  We do not care.”  Appleseed wears sunglasses that glisten in the fading evening light.  His long brown hair cascades around a beard Albus Dumbledore would be proud of.  Appleseed settles back in his wheelchair and goes silent once more.  Every band needs a stoic and he embraces the role with gusto.  When he speaks we all listen. 
    And he’s right. 
    The Bent-Winged Snitches do not care. 
    And that is precisely why we all care so much about them. 
    Two years ago, The Bent-Winged Snitches were just like every other Wizard Rock band.  Scraping by in back alleys and mermaid soirees. 
    But then Johanna Langston Simone wrote ‘Black and Mythological in America’, a soulful ballad about her love affair with Forrest.  The wizarding world was forced to take notice.  With her fabled fro and her lover’s total rejection of any and all razors, everybody instantly fell in love with both of them and the story of their romance.  From nervous teenagers on their first date at a Sheboygan ‘Wursts Quidditch match to international superstars, there wasn’t a wizarding newspaper without their faces smiling and giggling on the front page. 
    That was, until their sophomore album:
    ‘Harry Potter is Not My Damn Messiah.’
    Many found their flip from media darlings to political songsmiths most disagreeable. 
    But the ‘Snitches didn’t care.  They’d never be apologetic.  In fact, in an interview with the Daily Prophet’s infamous Rita Skeeter, Simone said that she would never back down from her views:
    “No!  Look.  These are the facts.  While most of you were riding this idiot’s coattails, drinking champagne and getting fat on chocolate frogs, you all failed to realize something.  Harry Potter is a terrible wizard.  The only reason he even got into Hogwarts was cuz he was a legacy from a rich wizarding dynasty.  Simple economics.  We all know we’re ruled by an entrenched elite back in England.  And I’m not even talking about Voldy-douche’s ideas about blood purity or whatever…look, I’m sorry to burst Potter’s Napoleonic bubble, but he’s not even the best wizard in his marriage!”
    Simone went on to advocate the abolition of Hogwarts’ ancient Houses system, citing its “rigid doctrines dictating the actions and attitudes of vulnerable, impressionable children.’
    Needless to say, sales of The Bent-Winged Snitches’ music plummeted faster than a drunken troll after a night on the town. 
    But again, the Snitches didn’t care.  They had never been in it for the money. 
    So, Simone, Forrest, Appleseed, and the ‘Snitch’s Chupacabra keyboardist Gabriel Herrera Diego Diaz (who was unable to attend our interview due to a stint in rehab after a particularly bad goat-nabbing addiction relapse) went back to work on their third album. 
    And now, three days before ‘The Muggle Blues Again’ hits shelves, I sit with the young band admiring a Manhattan sunset.
    “So why ‘The Bent-Winged Snitches?’” I ask.
    Simone and Forrest glance at each other out of the corners of their eyes and blush.  “Well, because, a, we’re not straight, and b, because the rest of our band is a bunch of misfits as well, and c, because a Quidditch match in Wisconsin started this all. ”  Forrest says.    
    We lapse into silence for a moment as the last natural light slips beyond the horizon.  I turn back to them and speak in a quiet voice. 
    “So, what’s next?”
    Simone looks down for a moment.  At this point, I can only see her as a faint outline in the darkness. 
    “I don’t know about us.  But for all my wrangling against the power structures of this Earth, I do have hope.  They say that America is in decline.  That our magic is scattered, weak, disorganized, dying.  But that’s not what I see.  I see vibrancy and diversity and youth.  I see a new generation finding their voice.  And I’ll tell you what.  Our magic doesn’t need pig latin.”
    With this remarkable statement, Johanna Langston Simone picks up her now nigh-mythic acoustic guitar, which has green glowing letters pulsating along its base.  They read ‘stitch ends, begin anew.’
    She begins to sing.’   

from Portraits of Starfleet

“You ever believe in love at first sight?  That moment when all your windows finally get blown open?  When you forget whatever the hell it was you were doing five seconds before?  When your whole body breaches out of that deep water you didn’t even know you were drowning in?  Your life suddenly expanding into infinity.  Far from these lonely nights in cow town.  Whispering in your ear that you were born to be somebody.  Well, that’s how She makes me feel.” 

from Portraits Across the Narrow Sea

“You like it?  It’s my ‘I’m gonna burn your frikken face off’ face.  Terrifies the crap out of people.  I love it!  Mummy says one day I shall be a great and terrible dragon.  Like my ancestors before me.  I’m gonna be as big as a house!  Mummy will ride me over burning fields of Westeros.  I can’t wait for the day when I can sink my fangs into barbecued Kingslayer.  Mummy is good to me.  She shall reward me.  I’m a good boy.  I’m a good boy!”    

from Portraits of the Rebellion“How fluent are you in this form of communication?”

from Portraits of Starfleet

“I mean it’s perfectly fine.  More than fine, in fact.  I love listening.  It’s my job, but also who I am.  All their stories.  Their hopes.  Dreams.  Fears.  They come to Ten-Forward to gain some perspective.  And I hope I provide it for them.  ‘Adjusting their present course’ as Lieutenant Data likes to call it.  But this is a huge ship.  So many people.  So many voices.  So many souls.  And there’s just me.  Sure, supposedly there’s a ship’s counselor, but what good is she?  I mean really?  She’s possibly one of the most unstable people on this ship.  And that’s saying something.  Just because you can sense what people are feeling does not mean you are qualified to help them.  I do not know why they keep her around.  It’s the 24th century, you’d think we’d have more competent people running the flagship of the fleet.  But enough about that…what can I get you?”

from Portraits of Laketown“The ikkle black one, that’s Dollop son of Doldrum and the white one, he’s Galumph son of Griffle.  Closer’n me’ own family they are.  Raised em from pups.  Great trackers.  Not afraid of the water.  You can’t be around here.  The Mayor has great need of trackers in treacherous times.  These days, you can’t even trust your own neighbors anymore.  Like that Bard bloke.  Shifty one, he is.  Never liked him.  So I’m always happy to help keep an eye on him.  And two widdle noses too!  Saved me life these two.  Ever since…well, you know.  Once Dale was gone, nobody wanted to come round these parts no more.  No tourists.  No pleasure boats.  And certainly no trade.  No dwarfs, neither. Economy went straight down the latrine. [snaps fingers] Just like that.  Gone in a great puff of fire n’ smoke.  So we have to make do, don’t we?  Keep our ‘eads down.  Take care of our own.  Cherish our dogs.  Before He comes a roarin’ again.” 

from Portraits of Laketown

“The ikkle black one, that’s Dollop son of Doldrum and the white one, he’s Galumph son of Griffle.  Closer’n me’ own family they are.  Raised em from pups.  Great trackers.  Not afraid of the water.  You can’t be around here.  The Mayor has great need of trackers in treacherous times.  These days, you can’t even trust your own neighbors anymore.  Like that Bard bloke.  Shifty one, he is.  Never liked him.  So I’m always happy to help keep an eye on him.  And two widdle noses too!  Saved me life these two.  Ever since…well, you know.  Once Dale was gone, nobody wanted to come round these parts no more.  No tourists.  No pleasure boats.  And certainly no trade.  No dwarfs, neither. Economy went straight down the latrine. [snaps fingers] Just like that.  Gone in a great puff of fire n’ smoke.  So we have to make do, don’t we?  Keep our ‘eads down.  Take care of our own.  Cherish our dogs.  Before He comes a roarin’ again.” 

from Portraits of the Rogue’s Gallery

“…so Lando’s been trying to take this girl out for months, and she just wasn’t having any of it.  I don’t think she’s one for capes.  Or maybe it’s the mustache.  Or the excessive gambling debts.  I dunno.  Anyway, eventually she gave in, but on the condition that me and Chewie go with them.  Lando was furious, of course.  He thought she was into me so he made me promise I wouldn’t put any of my patented Han Solo, Smuggler Extraordinaire moves on her.  We all go out to a dive on this backwater planet, I can’t even remember the name of it to tell you the truth, that’s how drunk I got.  I love me some Corellian whiskey, feels like coming home again.  So it’s like one in the morning, and she goes up to the bar droid to get more drinks and we spot this tall blonde wookie girl standing right next to her.  At this point we’re all completely sloshed, so Lando bets Chewie a couple hundred credits he won’t go up and talk to her.  So of course Chewie immediately takes him up on the offer.  And he gets shakily to his feet, knocking over his chair, and saunters over.  But instead of talking to the wookie, Lando’s girl starts talking to him.  And they just stand there for at least ten minutes until she puts her arm through his.  And she’s petting him and blushing and he’s baring his teeth and purring!  And I’m back at our table cracking up.  Lando, meanwhile, just glares at them, balling his hands into fists.  After a while, Chewie indicates the rooms upstairs behind us.  Her eyes flash and she grins.  So he escorts her towards them, but not before digging in his satchel and pulling out a few hundred credits.  On his way past us, he slams the money down on the table without a growl.  Five seconds later, he and the girl vanish behind a curtain.  Lando jumps to his feet, jaw clenched, like he was about to lunge after them.  In my drunken stupor, I pull him back down and whisper in his ear, “Calrissian, let the wookie sin.”  His face darkens, he pulls away from me, and he storms out the door.  Haven’t seen him since.”     

from Klingons of Kronos

“We’re in a band.  The Dogs of Chang.  Mostly ballads.  A few love songs.  Those can get pretty intense.  Zothran here is a revelation on the drums.  Dude just bangs the things faster than a tribble in heat.  It’s gnarly!  We’re playing at Quark’s bar on Deep Space Nine tonight.  Should be epic.  Those Bajoran girls have very attractive face ridges, if I say so myself.  We better go set up the organs.  It’s all about sex, drugs, and Q’plah, my friends!”   

from Wizards of America

“The name’s Roosevelt Huckleberry Crockett.  They call me Roose for short.  I’m supposed to be meeting Dumbledore here in a couple of ticks.  Quaint little tavern these English wizards have here, ain’t it?  I come from Texas myself.  Never been so cramped and cold in my life.  You’d think they’d figure out some spell to magic away the rain by now, wouldn’t you?”


I think they prefer the rain, actually.  It’s decidedly English. 


“It’s decidedly crazy is what it is.  Mighty depressin’.  I need sunshine and warmth and a decent goddam hamburger!  Where the hell is this ole geezer?”


What are you meeting him about?  And is that a Muggle book I spy you reading?


“It certainly is.  They may not have magical ability, but they are amazingly capable despite all that.  I admire ‘em.  I think there’s a lot Wizarding kind could learn from them.  And I think Dumbledore agrees with me.  Wizards and Witches are stuck in the past.  Mired in tradition.  And why?  Cuz that’s the way it’s always been, they say.  But maybe there’s a better way, you know?  So I plan to start a Wizarding School over in America and I thought I’d consult Dumbledore before I started.  He’s not bogged down by what has been, he’s gazing up at the stars at what could be.  And that’s what I want my school to be about.  Not yesterday, but tomorrow.  Oooh!  That’s good, I think I’ll write it down!”      

from Portraits of Agrabah

“We turn a few heads when we walk down the street, there’s no denying it.  But their stares fill me with peculiar strength.  They’re not staring at me because I’m the Princess, for once, but because Rajah is padding along beside me. I’m no longer the Sultan’s daughter in their eyes.  I’m the psychopath with the man-eating tiger.  I like that.  It means I’ll be remembered.  Beyond all the riches and power my father has.”


Is that why you are resistant to the idea of a suitor?


“Yeah.  I guess.  I mean, it probably means I’ll end up as the crazy cat lady with a palace full of tigers.  But I’m alright with that.  I won’t sacrifice my weirdness so they can fit me in a cage.  Like Rajah, I want to roam free.”

from Portraits of the Empire

“I think we definitely get a bad rap.  For your information, citizen, sharpshooting is a requirement back at the Academy.  It’s just these godawful helmets they make us wear.  Sure, they’re ‘aesthetically terrifying’ or whatever, but on the practical end of things it’d be more effective to just throw metal buckets over our heads.  But whatever.  All for the Emperor, right?”


How do you find Tatooine?


“Hot. [laughs]  Really stinking hot, man.  And the sand.  I don’t like sand.  It’s coarse and rough and irritating and it gets everywhere.  Like in your armor.  Like inside it.  I have to wash out my codpiece on the hour.  It is the worst!  The Hutts are OK, I guess.  They won’t bother us if we don’t bother them.  The locals, on the other hand, have no sense of culture or the arts whatsoever.  They’ve never even heard of opera.  It’s all pod-racing, all the time.  I mean how many times can you watch someone fly around in a circle without blowing your brains out?  The Death Sticks must help out with that.  On the bright side, the bantha milk here is pretty good.  So there’s that, I guess.”   

from Sims of Pleasant Valley“You ever get the feeling we have absolutely no control over our lives?  That somebody else is pulling the strings?”